


Creator's Love is Endless

by WindwiseWords



Series: Xenogen City [17]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Adopted Children, Bar Room Brawl, Comfort, Father-Son Relationship, Nervousness, Panic Attacks, Social Anxiety
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-24
Updated: 2016-10-24
Packaged: 2018-08-24 11:15:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8370112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WindwiseWords/pseuds/WindwiseWords
Summary: Prowl goes to a bar at Bluestreak's urging, trying to fit in with his friends. Prowl is not a crowd type, at least not this crowd.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Not a request but one of my commenters mentioned they wanted some Prowl-raising-Bluestreak sooo... Here ya go!

Being Prowl was not easy. Oh no, the strict enforcer rarely took a day off. Some compared him to Red Alert without the paranoia, a diligent and slightly over the top officer of security and tactics.

And here he sat in the bar with Bluestreak, desperately trying to not take down every violation in Swerve’s and even more frantically trying to privately com Bluestreak to slow down on his drinks. The young bot chatted away with Hot Shot, Bumblebee, and a pair of young seekers known as Windcatcher and Starshot. Some teasingly called the table the Nursery, a space set aside for the less matured bot to hang out.

And here Prowl sat, sandwiched between Bluestreak and Hot Shot who no doubted thought of his many small offences throughout the weeks Xenogen was open. Prowl didn’t mention the awkward silence Bluestreak seemed to ignore, prattling on about something he saw on the mainland once during a scrabble with a stray Decepticon.

Prowl twitched as his adopted sparkling threw an arm around his shoulders, and glanced at him. “…And Prowl took him out in one shot! Right Prowl? Oh it was so cool!” Prowl nodded numbly, the looks around the table stating that while they believed the story the idea of Prowl being anything but a stick in the mud proved too much to believe.

Optimus Prime, as he many times had, came to save Prowl. All the young bots smiled as the big leader came over and settled down. “Hello, everyone! Oh, Prowl! Good to see you outside the office.”

“Yes, it’s good to see you too, sir.” Prowl instantly fell into comfortable routines.

Optimus shattered that comfort with a simple statement. “It’s just Optimus outside the office, Prowl.” It was gentle and the glance a few of the other bots gave expected Prowl to blow a fuse. He nearly did.

“Yes… Optimus.” The name felt awkward on his glossa.

“Well. At the risk of being arrested, I’m going to get more drinks.” Hot Shot announced, standing up stiffly and the other young mechs following. Other than the silver Starshot, eyes tracking Prowl more intelligently than his age.

Optimus smiled sympathetically. “Are you doing alright, Prowl?”

“Bluestreak asked me to be here. I am _fine._ ” He could do this for his sparkling. The silver seeker narrowed his eyes.

“Seekers are sensitive. Both you and your boy are uncomfortable.” The quiet serious voice carried static, and the soft growl of most Decepticons. Prowl established the conclusion that this boy had been studying him with scrutiny akin to Ratchet cleaning his tools. “My sire cannot come in the bar. Not easily. Nor can you.” A flash of respect dawned in those dark blue eyes before the mech stood up and left, everyone giving him distance as if touching him would split them apart.

Prowl stared and glanced to Optimus, who clapped a hand on his shoulder. “You are trying so hard to fit into civilian life, Prowl. Maybe too hard. But I wouldn’t ask you to stop, because asking a creator to do less for their sparkling is like asking the humans to not breathe air.” The Prime smiled and took a sip of his own drink, something light on the enjex with strong taste. Prowl could smell it from here.

Bluestreak returned and thumbed over at Hot Shot and Bumblebee. “Optimus, sir, the yellow double troubles are at it again.” And sure enough the brothers-in-arms were fighting over something, a mess of limbs on the floor. Optimus laughed and instead of going to break it up, knocked back his drink and went to leap and crash atop them both. The fight became the yellow bots against their leader, and even together the fight was uneven in Optimus’ favor.

Prowl watched with wide eyes as Optimus Prime roughhoused with his apprentices. It wasn’t rare to see this sire-ish side of Prime but he never noticed it in such a peaceful setting of friends and fun. That was too much for Prowl whose processor demanded him to leave. He stood up, grabbing Bluestreak by the arm and dragging him to the nearest door. Bluestreak didn’t question why, knowing tonight eventually Prowl would have too much change and want to go home. Bluestreak commed his friends cheerfully, stating that he hoped Optimus didn’t kick their afts too hard.

Prowl got outside and instantly turned to head back to Command Central. He and Bluestreak shared a unit, private berthrooms and shared living space. Just how they liked it. Prowl was hardly home anyways so really it was Blue’s quarters.

When they reached the door Bluestreak gently pushed his adopted creator’s hand away, noticing the slight twitches pushed wrong keys.

“Bluestreak. I’m sorry.” Prowl spat out as soon as the door shut behind them, curling a fist open and closed. Frustration at himself.

Bluestreak just smiled and nudged his creator to the couch. “You stayed a lot longer than I expected. I’m just happy you came at all.” They both sat down and Bluestreak turned on the screen on the wall, putting on one of those human’s cop shows that Prowl refused to admit he liked. What did he do to deserve such a thoughtful child, Prowl would never know.

“I’m sorry.” That he couldn’t deal with the bar crowd, that he was such a by-the-book slagger sometimes, that he couldn’t even sit next to his friends without causing them discomfort. Above all that he failed his one simple request to spend an evening in the bar with him.

“Prowl, it’s okay.” The tone Bluestreak took reflected Prowl’s when he took it upon himself to comfort the injured. A rare moment but Bluestreak didn’t miss a beat. “You tried. I knew it would be hard for you, I just really worry sometimes you get alone in your office.” Prowl stared hard at the screen, but Bluestreak knew he was listening. “I’m sorry Hot Shot was acting so off put by you. I think he was just trying to make jokes at your expense. He does that to everyone.”

“I’m not very good at jokes.” Prowl muttered, jumping a bit as Bluestreak leaned to rest his head on Prowl’s shoulder.

“Your jokes are great, just rare. And you are great, Prowl. You’re the best creator I could have asked for.” Prowl never tried to replace his sire or carrier, just tried to pick up where they left off. And that was why Prowl was Creator, not sire or carrier; he did both jobs, and protected Xenogen, and fought a war, all while raising Bluestreak to be a great young mech.

Prowl hesitantly leaned back, resting his head on the side of Bluestreak’s. “Optimus Prime was roughhousing with his apprentices.” Prowl paused, calculating each word. “I don’t do that with you.”

“Well, yea I know you don’t. You’d kick my aft every time to the Pit and back.” Bluestreak laughed, the sound setting Prowl at ease.

“And do not forget that.” A rare smile, a treasure for Bluestreak to hold close. Prowl pointed at the screen. “Do you see that maneuver?” Four human cop cars forming a moving road block. “That could be very useful if we had a seeker on top.”

And the two settled into their usual routine. Prowl pointed out tactical plans and on rare occasion Bluestreak pointing out a way to make them better. A shared moment of pride would follow, and Bluestreak could think of no better way to spend the evening with his creator.


End file.
